Page 24 of The Bastard's Lily
His lips graze my jaw, my cheek, lower… And then—
“Mama?”
We both freeze. Rook pulls back like he’s been tasered. I jerk away, heart crashing against my ribs. Beau sits up on the bed, hair a tangle of curls, sleepy eyes squinting at us. His stuffed fox is tucked under one arm, and his other hand rubs his cheek.
“What’re you and Rook doin’?” he mumbles.
I blink, heat rushing up my neck. “Uh—nothing, baby. Did we wake you up?”
Rook clears his throat and shifts, leaning back like he hadn’t just been whispering sinful things in my ear. “Sorry, bud. That one’s on me.”
Beau yawns wide and squeakily. “You were real close,” he says matter-of-factly, eyes still half-closed. “Like when the cows do nose kisses.”
I choke on a laugh and press my palm to my face.
Rook chuckles under his breath. “Guess we were, huh?”
“Were you kissin’ my mom?”
My jaw drops open, and Rook’s brows shoot up. “That’s a bold question for six in the morning.”
Beau shrugs and flops sideways on the bed. His little blue eyes filled with happiness. “I saw it on Bluey. The mom and dad kiss all the time.”
Rook grins, but I jab him with my elbow before he can say a word.
Beau nestles in, mumbling, “You can kiss her if you want, Rook. But only if she says yes.”
I exhale a shaky breath and glance sideways at him. He’s not looking at me—he’s focused on Beau now, face softer than I’ve ever seen it.
“Thanks for the permission, kid,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
And fuck if I’m not completely wrecked by that.
Beau stretches his legs and yawns again, blinking up at the ceiling. “Hey, Rook?”
Rook hums low in his chest. “Yeah, kid?”
“Do you know who my dad is?”
The silence hits like a slammed door. I go still. So does Rook. He turns his head toward me—slow, careful—eyes searching mine. I can't breathe. Beau doesn’t notice. He’s too busy picking at the seam on his pajama pants, waiting for an answer like he just asked what’s for breakfast.
I slide off the couch before I can talk myself out of it. Feet hitting the floor, I fold myself next to Beau on the bed and brush the hair off his forehead. He looks at me with those same eyes I’ve memorized since the day he was born—mine, but not just mine.
“Yeah, baby,” I say softly. “Rook knows your dad.”
Beau tilts his head, curious. “Was he friends with him?”
I take a breath that shakes on the way out. “Beau… Rookisyour dad.”
His mouth opens. Closes. He blinks once. “What?”
I don’t cry. I don’t. I just keep my voice steady. “I didn’t tell you before because I wanted to wait until it felt right. And maybe I waited too long. But it’s true. Rook is your dad.”
He looks at me. Then turns slowly to stare at Rook. “You’re mydad?”
Rook’s voice is low. Rough. “Yeah, bud. I am.”
Beau’s face scrunches like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t know he had the pieces for. He studies Rook like he’s never really looked at him before, eyes moving over the tattoos, the beard, the scars, and the soft weight in his shoulders.
